


Of Bruises And Baby Oil

by ladyfoxxx



Category: Bandom, Green Day, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Cage Fights, Crack, M/M, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-05
Updated: 2011-03-05
Packaged: 2017-10-16 03:59:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/168186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyfoxxx/pseuds/ladyfoxxx
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's only one way to settle a dispute between the My Chem boys and the Green Day boys - a cage match!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Of Bruises And Baby Oil

**Author's Note:**

> Co-write with [villiagegreen](http://villiagegreen.livejournal.com/).
> 
> Total crack. Consensual athletic violence, fight club style.

"You know, I'm really not comfortable with this." Under normal circumstances Gerard would be totally down with having Frank rub baby oil all over him. These aren't normal circumstances.

"What, is it the oil? Or the not wearing a shirt part?" Frank's still greasing Gerard's arms as he asks, fingers quick and firm. "Cos the oil's a good idea. He's not gonna be able to get a grip on you, you'll be all slippery."

Gerard just glares at him.

"No, strangely enough Frank, it's the whole cage-fighting thing I kinda have a problem with." Gerard grumbles, grinding his heel into the cruddy burn-marked carpet of the dim little back-room-cum-dressing-room. He can't block out the noise coming from under the door anymore. The rumble of the crowd outside sounds primal to his ears, bloodthirsty, even though it's much the same noise he usually hears before a show. But he's not going out there to sing. He's going out there to fight. And he's never been much of a fighter. Though he has plenty of experience getting beat up and he's really not keen for more.

"Did you see the sign hanging out there? It says Scream For Blood!" Gerard's trying to sound annoyed but it comes out mostly panicked. He lets out a strangled noise, pulling on his hair. "Why the fuck am I doing this again?"

Frank gets up in his face, all hot breathed and indignant.

"He insulted us Gee. Fucking insulted us." Frank grabs up the now-battered copy of Rolling Stone and brandishes it like a placard before flipping it open and reading it at Gerard, spitting fire with every word. "Derivative. Unimaginative."

Gerard's eyes crease to slits, hands clenching into fists.

"Utter tripe. Emo-tard." Frank adds, voice gaining volume and bile.

"He's trying to kill the album. Kill the band." Frank's nearly yelling now, grabbing Gerard by the back of the neck and locking their eyes.

"You're gonna wreck him, right Gee? Fucking take him down."

Yeah, Gerard's thinking. Yeah he can do that. Fuck Billie Joe Armstrong's not that much bigger than him. He looks pretty frail and small. Gerard's all oiled up and hard to grab, and he can use fingernails and elbows and knees and teeth. There's no rules. He can fight dirty. He can do this. He can fucking do this.

He's nearly made it to the door when it hits him again. This is going to hurt. A lot, most likely.

His feet stick on the carpet and he turns back to Frank.

"I just don't see why Bob can't do it. He's way bigger and scarier than me." Fuck is he whining? Yeah he's whining like a little pussy.

"Jesus Gee, Bob's not even over his wrist surgery yet. And you're the fucking frontman. Suck it up."

Gerard's twitching, quivering with flight response and chewing on his hair. He's running a venue blueprint through his head, trying to figure out if there's any stairs between here and the stage - no _cage_ , he could "accidentally" fall on, hurt himself, get out of this. Frank grabs him by the chin.

"You can do this, alright? Do it for us. Do it for your fucking band." Then Frank kisses him so hard their noses bang and their teeth clash. Gerard tastes blood and he knows it's not the last time he'll have that copper tang on his mouth tonight. He wrenches his lips from Frank's, holding him by the throat, breathing heavy when he says,

"Let's do this."

***

Billie is bouncing around the dim lit room, jabbing and spitting at his imagined opponent, doing his best 'karate kid' impression.

“Bill, why the hell are we here, you're going to get hurt.”

“No I'm not, I am going to kick some lily ass is what I'm going to do.” Billie huffs, slapping at Mike's shoulder, trying to keep himself pumped.

Mike takes his wrist, trying to get the man to calm “Let's not be dumb, you aren't a boxer, you are not a ninja, and Gee is a little youn-”

“Don't you fucking say it, don't you DARE! He is barely younger then me, and I am in better shape! Have you seen me!- “ Billie takes to slapping himself on the chest, trying to look formidable, “and after everything we have done for them! We took them on one of the biggest tours of our lives! I bought them beer! And I offer a little constructive criticism...”

“You called them 'emo-tards'.”

“CONSTRUCTIVE CRITISISM and they have the gall to call US out, to challenge us!”

“You're the one who decided cage match.”

“Mikey, Mikey, Mikey..... I have to, it must be done. I'm the king of punk rock... I must protect the throne!” Billie shouts, taking once again to fighting the air.

Mike flops on the worn out sofa next to Tre, adjusting uncomfortably on worn metal springs, “This is pointless, if you even can kick this kid's ass, what does that prove? Nothing.”

“I think you are going to break him.” Tre says, trying to sound supportive, “Do you want to borrow my Snoo mask?”

Billie looks like he is giving it honest thought, “Nope, I think I will do fine with out getting all Mexican wrestler on that little fucker.”

Billie takes to inspecting his frame in a cracked mirror, scowling and growling at trying to look a little bit less like his pale thin self. Looking into the reflection he spies his friends over his shoulder, staring at him like he has completely lost his marbles. He flicks back to his own eyes, rubbing at them with his fingers, trying to smear them till they look more bad ass and less sephora.

“I can beat this guy right, I'm not kidding myself?” Billie sighs, a little less resolute then a few moments ago.

Tre gives him an eager thumbs up and Mike stands crossing the dingy room, wrapping lanky arms around Billie's waist.

“Billie, you will kick the dog-shit out of him.”

“But, you were right, he has a few years on me and...”

“Listen... listen to all those screaming people, I know what that noise does to you, use it and you will do fine babe, make me proud.”

Billie smiles at him in the glass, craning his neck to plant a kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Mikey.”

“Just come back to me in one piece, I mean a few bruises is pretty ok.... just don't let him bite your ear off or anything.” Mike smirks.

Billie laughs, “I'll try my best.”

Mike unlatches his arms and pats Billie's shoulders, 'Come on, we need to get you ready for this, you are going to murder that little prick right?”

Billie breaths deep and begins bouncing on the balls of his feet “Totally.”

“Float like a fairy, sting like a bumble bee!” Tre cheers, gaining a look of perplexed interest from his band mates.

Mike feels the little light bulb go off over his head, “I'm pretty sure the last time we saw them, Gerard made a pass at me.”

“THAT LITTLE SON OF A BITCH!”

***

The dressing room door slams open and Gerard emerges, hoping he looks tougher than he feels. His bandmates and manager are loitering in the hallway and from the way they startle and look over at him guiltily he knows they were talking about him. Probably about the insanity of this whole thing and he's likely to agree with every word.

They're all staring at him like they haven't seen him shirtless and covered in oil before. Which, of course, they haven't. Bob's trying really hard not to look, Ray just looks uncomfortable, Brian's smirking like this is the funniest thing he's seen in a long time and, hey, hang on -

"Where's Mikey?" The greasy man demands.

Ray starts to say something, looking apologetic and jesus fuck if Gerard doesn't nearly lose his shit over that. If Gerard's not allowed to punk out on this then his brother certainly fucking isn't either. He's about to let loose and wail on about support and showing a united front when-

"I'm here, I'm here, I'm here!" Mikey races down the hallway and catches Gerard in a tight hug.

"I'm sorry. I nearly didn't make it." Mikey's voice is muffled into Gerard's shoulder. "Ew, gross. What are you covered in?"

"Don't ask." Gerard laughs abruptly. Frank launches himself at them both and then they're all getting in on the hug - Ray, Brian and even Bob too.

They're all just a mess of arms and chests and hands when "Thank You For Then Venom" starts blaring out of the auditorium speakers. The crowd starts screaming their fucking lungs out.

That's Gerard's cue. The scrum slowly comes apart, all eyes on him.

"I guess this is it then." Gerard sounds way too unsure for a guy who's about to fight someone. In a cage.

"Fucking kill him. " Frank slaps him in the chest, then they all start shoving him towards the screaming, till he's striding ahead of them down the hallway, all attitude. The guys keep him pumped, supplying him with plenty of insults to use and a variety of reasons why Billie Joe Armstrong is cunt who needs to take a dive.

The stage doors burst open and Gerard's hemmed in on all sides by screaming, howling, spitting fans. The crowd are in a pink fit, crying bloody murder, barely being held back by a team of burly security crew. Gerard can't help thinking that the security guards look a lot more suited to being in a cage fight than his own self. He'd be more at home in a dress, maybe doing some needlepoint, whatever.

The crowd must be divided based on who they support, because on his left it's all blood spittin' hatred, while his right hand side is hysteria, all tears, running eyeliner and reaching hands. The band shove their way through the crush, security crew barely keeping them unmolested. Frank's got two fingers hooked in Gerard's belt loops, keeping him close.

"So gimme all your poison, and gimme all your pills,"

Frank starts singing along with the track, now there's an idea. Gerard joins in and by the time they make it to the raised dias of the cage the whole band's joined in, screaming out the words, half the crowd behind them. Now that's fucking solidarity.

"You're running after something you can never kill! If this is what you want then fire at will!" Gerard shrieks at what's he's figured out is the non-Green Day section of the crowd. He doesn't have a mic and he doesn't even care. He spins on his heel, letting them see where Frank's written "REVENGE" across his back in sharpie. They howl at him appreciatively and he can feel it, that familiar adrenaline rush thrumming up from his feet to his temples. Now he just has to channel it into his fists.

He glances over at Frank as the song rattles to a close. He's flushed and panting, his eyes afire. It's a rush and they're both terrified, but fucked if they're gonna back down now.

Frank grabs him by the back of the head, pressing there foreheads together, close enough that Gerard can hear his voice over the baying of the fans.

"Don't fucking die okay?"

Gerard figures he can only do his best.

****

“Fuck, Fuck, FUCK!” Billie shouts, hearing the roar of the crowd and the music kick in, “This is really happening isn't it?”

Mike nods and Billie takes his bouncing pace from 'caffeinated squirrel' to 'meth addicted hummingbird'. In the uncovered bulb of the back room, Billie's thin coating of sweat starts to show.

“You are going to show him who's king bitch around here, I know you got it in you, after all, you would never have gotten yourself into this mess if you couldn't get yourself out.” Mike says, voice holding a bit of promise.

Billie's hands clench and unclench, forming tiny quick fists, “Fuck me rotten, I need a smoke.”

Tre digs through Billie’s jacket, turning it from a neatly folded square of fabric into a tangled mess. He tosses Billie the pack and the jittery man, who quickly moves to light up, throwing the rest of the pack back. Billie notices he doesn't have the ever present lump of metal in his back pocket, “Mikey, I need my...”

Mike beat him to the punch, holding out Billie's zippo lit and ready to go, Billie cracks a bright smile for the first time in an hour. “God damn I love you.”

Mike's eyes flash wide and bright, “Before you go out babe, you gotta do this,” pulling out his cellphone and dialling furiously then pressing the plastic doo-dad to Billie's ear.

“Mike?”

“No, it's me.”

Billie hears the smile in the voice on the other side of the line, “I'm still mad you didn't let me come.”

“Sorry, But you know Mike has his eyes on me...”

“Tell Mike if you come home dead I'm castrating him,” the voice is serious.

“Mikey, if I come home dead you are getting castrated.” Billie repeats. Mike cups his crotch in mock fear.

“You are going to shove his balls down his throat for me, right babydoll?”

“For you, anything” Billie felt his back bone straighten.

“I Love you Billie Joe.”

“I Love you to 80.”

Billie shuts the phone, passing it back and moving his fingers to busy themselves on fiddling with his cigarette. Mike wraps a protective arm around the spastic waist, “Come on, we should head out, their song is almost up, and that means...”

“That means I get my moment in the sun before going all Tarantino on this little prick.” Billie states squarely.

Mike gives little push and they spill into the hallway, meeting with their tiny cheering section of band mates, two men slouching against a wall in matching red shirts.

“Break his neck.” says Freese.

“Piss on his grave.” adds White.

The Jasons take to poking Billie's ribs and ruffling his hair, Billie bats the probing hands away, “Thanks for coming guys, I like having the support.”

Jason smiles and gives Billie a push, “You don't need us for that, hear the ... you know.... mad half of that racket? That's the half that's going to lose their shit when you walk out there.”

Billie closes his eyes and tunes into the buzz, so much angrier and raw then the crowds he was used to hearing. The speakers quiet a moment and a new track flips on, a familiar garble of noise. Jasons both force their hands once more in his hair, Tre nervously pulls him into a hug, leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek, “Give 'em hell Billie Joe.”

Billie plants a fraternal kiss on Tre's forehead, finally turning to the door, Mike still latched on his waist, fingers gripping a bit tighter.

They push through the door and everything is loud and bright, screams pierce his ears and wide green eyes have a fit looking at groping hands and blood thirsty strangers. He is quick to put his scary face back on, forcing his brow to wrinkle and pout to suck in a bit.

 _'As God as my witness, the infidels are gonna pay'_ the speakers sing, a voice Billie thought sounded cool when they recorded it, but now feels silly and weak.

“I should’ve picked a better song.” Billie screams into Mike's ear.

“Stop worrying about stupid shit, you little control freak.” Mike shouts back with a smirk, going in for a firm kiss.

Mike slides his arm free, leaving Billie with a swift smack on the ass, “You got this, Bill.” he says, trying his best to be heard over the sea of maniacs.

Billie studies the crowd as they walk out, one side’s attention is focusing mainly on the skinny figures a good deal away, _them,_ who had already come out. A few strays on that side bother to turn abouts and throw him the bird and actually start throwing the beer cans. Billie and the gang inch instinctively away, into the reaching fingertips of those who seem to be on their side.

Billie looks into these faces more carefully, these are the kinda people who attend shows, men with tattoos, angsty boys, and a surprising about of snarling young women. It's obvious a good deal are drunk, many raising fists to the music pumped in on a bad sound system, they all looked ready to go to war for him, and it is unnerving.

'Nope, this is good-' Billie tells himself, '-I am going to ruin this kid, and then all these fuckers are going to want to buy me a drink', Billie lets his eyes flick back to those who are obviously not his people, '... And these ones will tear my skin off.... Armstong, what have you done to yourself?'

Realizing these thoughts are doing nothing for him, Billie turns to his crowd, his flock, raising his arms and gaining a loud cheer. He feels his nerves buzz at the adoration, this he needs, this charges his battery, this is what’s going to save his ass tonight.

Billie turns back to his mates, receiving a messy salute from his fellas. Finally he’s got the nerve to turn to the cage that stands before him, the giant fight sized cage,... a cage where he plans to fight a guy who has a few years on him.

Needing another vote of confidence, Billie yanks the back of his pants down, flashing his army his pasty backside and gaining a cry of support.

 _“ ...Death to the ones at the end of the serenade...”_

Billie recovers himself, dropping the butt of his smoke and putting on a wicked smirk, “Piece of fuckin' cake.”

* * *

The cage gate slams closed with a bang. In a completely unnecessary move, one of the hulking security guards wraps a thick chain through the opening, locking it with an enormous padlock. Down the other end of the arena, another security guard padlocks the second gate. This is really happening.

Gerard is alone, in a giant cage, with a man who wants to do him harm. There is no way out. It's somewhat terrifying.

His breaths are loud in his ears as he dares to look over at his opponent. Billie's face is a mask a hate, scowling at Gerard. He's bouncing lightly on his feet, almost like a boxer and it's making Gerard a little nervous.

Insanely, he feels like they're characters in a computer game, Mortal Kombat or suchlike, with life-bars and three button combos. He feels like he should have some signature move to do, some sort of arm-swirling kick-pose thing that would make the crowd scream and make Billie Joe shit his pants in terror. But he doesn't.

He shakes himself out, tempted to start bouncing like Billie but doesn't want to look like he's copying. Instead, he plants his hands on his hips, cocks his head to one side and does his best "is that it?" look, like he's not fucking terrified of what's to come and he's in no way intimidated by Billie and his fucking bouncing and his smeared eyeliner and his "I'm gonna kill you" pout.

A voice bellows out over the loud speaker.

"Gerard Way, are you ready?"

Gerard raises his hand to the air like he was told to do, hoping the trembling isn't noticeable from a distance. His heart's beating so fast he feels lightheaded, so he just takes big breaths, forcing it out, trying to look tough as he does so and having no idea if it's working. The crowd's screaming is at fever pitch now, like they can smell the blood to come.

"Billie Joe Armstrong, are you ready?" The loudspeaker hollers and Billie Joe throws his hand up fast, doesn't even hesitate, like he just can't wait to get into this. The Green Day contingent roars its approval and Billie spits on the ground, still bouncing, still glaring.

"Three, two, one..." The crowd chants along, screaming out the countdown, then the announcer calls, "Fight!" and a siren blares and before Gerard really has time to process Billie is rushing at him in a flat out run.

Not wanting to look chicken Gerard rushes forward also until they crash together in the middle of the cage, Billie's hands finding Gerard's neck and shoulder and all Gerard can do is grab his opponent by the wrists and try to pull him off. The baby oil helps to some degree and he gets Billie's hand off his neck, fingernails scraping as he does, leaving a long scratch down Gerard's chest.

Billie wrenches his hand free of Gerard's grip, pulling back and letting fly with a punch that strikes Gerard so hard across the cheekbone he can feel each knuckle individually. His head jolts backwards as pain blossoms in his cheek.

Lucky punch, it was a lucky punch, he tells himself as he forces himself upright again and Billie lands another lucky punch on his other cheek. Gerard falls forward, hands on his face and fuck if he isn't flashing back to a hundred other times he's been in this position, helpless and getting beaten on by some older fucker with a point to prove. His entire high school life flashes past him, so he takes the face of every mother fucker who ever hit him and places it over Billie's in his mind.

Then he straightens and turns as fast as his muscles can move, cocking Billie in the face with his elbow. He feels the shock of the impact jar up his arm and watches with a sick kind of pleasure as Billie's head cocks back, spit flying from his mouth. In the moment it takes Billie to recover Gerard lands a punch on him, right in the guts and he doubles over clutching his middle.

Gerard's not sure what to do for a moment, Billie's bent double and there's no obvious place to land another hit on him. He's about to grab his opponent by the arm and pull him upright for more punishment, when Billie makes his move. He flies up, throwing his arm out as he does, backhanding Gerard so hard across the jaw it sends him spinning.

It takes real effort to fight the inertia and pull himself to a stop. He turns around and gets a face full of scowling angry frontman as Billie grabs him again, trying to shove him back against the cage, but he's slippery, squirming out of Billie's grip and throwing a flailing punch that barely makes impact.

Billie has another go, successful this time, throwing Gerard backwards against the cage so hard he can feel the crosswire leaving it's mark on his back. Then Billie's up in his face, going for his throat and Gerard's reaching out blindly, pulling at Billie's hair and trying to land a punch in his side, but the fence is in the way, he can't pull his arm back far enough to put any force in behind it.

The hand around his throat is squeezing and breathing's getting hard. He's starting to see stars, arms getting weaker and less useful. Somewhere distantly he can hear the baying crowd and he thinks he can pick out Frank's voice above all the others, screaming at him to just kill, fucking kill him. It's starting to get dicey when he gives up on the weak punches and plants his second hand into Billie's hair, holding firm as he cocks his head forward, praying real hard that's he's doing it right.

The headbutt catches Billie well off-guard, he goes flying backwards, losing his grip on Gerard's throat. Gerard's still a bit dizzy but he grabs at his advantage and lunges forward, backhanding Billie across the face. Billie stumbles sideways and Gerard shoves him hard, sending him flying downwards, barely getting his hands in front of him as he hits the ground. Gerard kicks him in the guts and hears Billie groan and half the crowd booing and shrieking abuse. Sure, the fight might be anything goes but he did just kick a man while he was down. He's considering whether to do it again or try something else when Billie's arms lock around his legs and shove, sending him flying sideways.

He hits the ground hard, shoulder and elbow taking the worst of the impact. He rolls onto his back, eyes searching for Billie when he's suddenly upon him, straddling him at the waist and back handing his face. Gerard can taste blood now, feel it rolling down his jaw from a split lip as Billie hits him again. Instinctively his arms fly up to cover his face, elbows forward and the next backhand hits his bicep instead.

Before Billie has a chance to pry Gerard's arms open and hit him again Gerard's in motion. He let's fly with his right arm, punching forward blindly and hitting what feels like Billie's neck. While Billie's reeling Gerard surges up, shoving Billie backwards, flipping them both over so he's on top now, holding the older man down with an elbow across his chest and his arms trapped above his head.

They struggle like that for a few moment, panting and growling at each other. Gerard's sweating and bleeding and it's dripping down on Billie's face as he scowls up at him. Billie's struggling, shifting around, trying to buck Gerard off and it's taking a lot of effort for Gerard to not think about what this reminds him of. What with the full body contact and the chest rubbing and the friction and the panting. Not it's really not like that.

He shoves Billie back down, hearing the smack of his back hitting the concrete.

The announcer's voice comes over the loudspeaker, counting down.

"Ten, nine, eight..." The crowd joins in, screaming it out. Gerard's just gotta hold him seven more seconds to win this round.

Billie knows and he shoves up at him, getting one hand free and palming Gerard's face. Gerard shoves him back down, pressing harder into his chest with his elbow and Billie can't hide his wincing now.

"Six, five, four, three..." The chanting’s getting louder, littered with screams for Gerard to hold on, hold that fucker down while the Green Day supporters scream at Billie to get up, fight back, get the fuck up.

Billie makes one last effort to throw Gerard off him, bucking up and wrenching at Gerard's hair. Gerard holds firm, backhanding him for his trouble and Billie's spitting out blood onto the concrete when they get to zero.

The crowd go fucking nuts.

Gerard's releases his hold and gets up as quick as he can, wanting to put distance between himself and Billie immediately. He stalks over to his band without a backwards glance, thrumming with adrenaline and blood and triumph. He faces off his wall of supporters throwing his arms in the air and they scream at him, howling their approval. He shakes the fence at them and kicks at it and they scream back harder.

The padlocks come off and Gerard kicks the cage open. He's barely stepped out when Frank leaps on him all arms and legs and lips and they're kissing messy and hard and fuck his split lip is hurting from it but he can't bring himself to care.

"Fuck yeah, fuck yeah, I knew you could fucking do it!" Frank's yelling into his face and kissing him everywhere. Gerard's covered in sweat and oil and blood and it's getting all over Frank. When he pulls back to look at him there's a smear of Gerard's blood on his cheek.

"It's only round one." Gerard reminds him, pressing their foreheads together.

"You did it once you can do it again." Frank's all confidence. "Come on, get ready." He drags Gerard into the waiting circle of his band where there's congratulatory pats and cold sponges to his aching cheeks and cool water on his tongue. As the adrenaline dissipates he can feel the burn of his injuries calling louder, so many parts of his body throbbing hot with pain.

He can't help looking past his cluster of supporters to the other side of the arena, watching Billie Joe and his crew.

He can't help wondering whether Frank's right. If he really can do this again.

****

“What in the blue hell.... did he break your nose?” White whispers, poking at Billie's bloodied cheek.

“Jesus! Can you breathe? He punched you in the THROAT!” Freese states, wide eyed.

Tre winces at his friend's poor shape and passes Mike a water bottle. Billie is sitting up between Mike's legs, obviously a bit winded but still punchy, fingers fidgeting and eyes that communicate he’s only just barely letting Mike attend to him. Mike is carefully wiping at Billie's face, happily surprised and disgusted that a majority of the thick red plasma is not coming from him but in fact dripped on him from his opponent. Billie feels his heart race as Mike fiddles with the bottle, the rapid thump leaves him with no patience, he yanks the bottle to himself even though his hands are throbbing and he pops off the cap.

“Relax.” Mike lectures, taking the water and holding it for Bill. Billie tries to shoot him a look, but craning his neck aches and he reaches for his own throat, rubbing at the burn. Mike once again bats Billie's hand away from any kind of work and presses fingertips in firm little circles around the budding bruise. Billie lets out a low “Ooooooh…” and a fresh pearl of blood rolls down his chin. Four sets of eyes lock on that little drop.

“So that's where all that blood was coming from.” Mike muses. Billie awkwardly pats his chin and shoves fingers in his mouth. He winces like a kicked puppy and pulls his fingers loose, a little rock sits in his digits, “Fucker broke a tooth... well fucker cracked a tooth, I guess I broke it.” Three sets of eyes are in shock at the calming man holding his own tooth getting recoated in blood, Mike smiles a little, at least his baby still has a sense of humor.

“How you feeling Bill, he got you pretty good out there?” Mike asks as softly as he can over the scream of fans wanting the two thrown back to each other. He pushes Billie forward a bit, cleaning long red scrapes from being thrown on the cement. Mike nods to Tre and he grabs a sponge, helping to get the sweat and blood off the competitor.

Billie speaks with gravel in his voice, “Fuck, I hurt ... But I can go again, I feel a little buzzed y'know? Endorphiney?..... Gerard got lucky.” Billie speaks and more blood drops spill free, Tre goes to wipe them away and Billie inches out of the way, licking his lips like an animal, stealing his water back to take a swig and spit the rosy fluid on the floor.

Mike takes a breath between inspecting every blemish on Billie to notice the fact that his hands are getting greasy, “What does that kid eat? He sweats lard or something...”

Billie barely notices as he broods, but the others show interest as Mike wrings his hands. Tre grabs the skinny fingers and sniffs, “That's baby oil dipshit.... Way greased himself up? What is this? American Gladiators?”

Billie grimaces, trying to process that what he interpreted as sweat was in fact a goo found in nurseries and strip club kiddie pools.

Mike rolls his eyes and goes back to work, time is flitting and he refuses to let Billie go if something is seriously wrong. He wipes softly at a large pink welt on Billie's stomach and the man trembles, the surprise to the reaction is easily read on Mike's face, “You said 'endorphiney' right? Like.... you know, do you mean.... _that_ kind of endorphiney ....”

Billie finally inches about to look Mike in the wide bright blues, “Ya...kinda.... are you mad at me?”

Billie's brain flashes back to getting mugged, getting beat up and held up at gun point, how bad it scared him, how close to death he felt, but he also flashes back to running home to Mike, and embracing him and kissing every inch of flesh because he felt more alive then ever before.

He’s feeling that same adrenaline sting, y'know, it can't be helped.

The Jasons avert their gaze, whistling to themselves and creating the perfect image of feigned innocence, Tre turns away also, but his distraction is trying to catch a peek of the crazy little brat who got slicked up for this shit.

Mike can tell Billie's breath is slow and unforced, his heart is racing, thumping through his chest, Mike lets some of his tact fall away and he presses a hand to Billie's groin, he isn't hard but his body is definitely interested in something, “No, I'm not mad, use it, show that fucker who's boss... I'll make it worth your while.” Mike sighs right into Billie's ear.

Billie smiles through red sore lips, “You better, if my luck keeps up, I will end up in a full body cast and I won't even be able to masturbate.”

Billie feels his pride pick itself back up, he can do this, he can make round two, he can at least survive round two.

“Hey Mr. And Mr. Uncomfortable-moment, um look....” Billie and Mike look up at Tre who is pointing across the room, Billie looks over and a blood smeared face turns away quickly.

Tre sounds surprised, “I think you spooked him.”

Speakers blare with a disembodied voice, “Opponents, Round Two.”

Billie stands quickly, ready for a bit of revenge. Mike scrambles for his feet and pulls Billie around to face him before darting back to the cage, “You are going to show that cocky little fuck who owns his ass... I know you will.”

“You better be right.”

Mike goes in for a kiss, stopping short when his brain remembers the blood and shattered tooth, moving instead to plant one firmly on the warm purple bruise on his neck. Billie groans but doesn't so much as shiver. Billie runs a hand through Mike's hair, knowing he is more nervous then himself.

Billie slips away, grinning and spitting at his own side of the crowd, trying to rile them up, and he is greeted only with solid cheers. Billie takes off, trying to beat Gerard to the ring, trying to prove that round one isn't going to bother him.

He is completely annoyed when Gerard beats him by a solid 36 seconds. That traitorous little son of a whore, Billie once liked this guy, gave him advice, introduced him to family, and now Billie is coming in as underdog in some kind of Chuck Palahniuk wet dream.

“Billie Joe Armstrong, are you ready?” 'what the hell, you only live once' Billie thinks, throwing his arms in the air, smiling wolfishly wide with blood coated teeth.

“Gerard Way, are you ready?” The kid throws his arms up, looking more focused than last time, less worried.

'I'll give you something to worry about' Billie thinks, trying to rile himself up to that chemical high of fight-or-flight.

If Tre thinks he's scared, why not push it?

“GOOD LUCK GEE!” Billie shrieks across the cage as they face off, eyes wide and trying to look as frenzied as possible.

Gerard cocks an eyebrow, his focus at least rattled.

“Three! Two! One!” and the siren wails, time to stop fucking around.

He tries to avoid repeating his round one experience (because that went so well), and he lets Gerard come to him, running zero to sixty at him. Billie's bet pays off, Gerard's own inertia adds weight to shoving his shoulder into the other man's solar plexus. Gerard gasp is audible over the crowd and he grabs his stomach, trying to catch his breath, Billie catches him on the chin with a closed fist and the kid stumbles, falling to the cement.

Billie feels his pride well, just a bit, until that is a kick to the shin or a lucky flail brings him down on top of Gerard. Gerard recovers too quick and gets a fist full of Billie's hair, pulling his head down to the cement.

Billie feels his gut wrench as his vision fades for a moment and the kid scuffles about to stand. He blinks heavily as he feels a gush of blood trickle into his eye. Panicking, Billie reaches out and grabs the waist band of Gerard's pants, yanking him down and giving Billie the opportunity to try to get him in some kinda pin.

Billie goes for his shoulders, trying to push him to the concrete, but he fights back, snatching Billie by the wrists and holding him off. The two grapple, feeling almost trapped in a stale mate. They push and grip at each other’s arms and shoulders, each trying to force the other into that all important position. Gerard is the first to get his hand loose and strikes Billie hard across his face, eyes sewing shut in pain.

Billie feels his brain flood with panic, it's all happening again only faster, he starts strong and ends up with Gerard hovering over him and holding him down. Hands move to subdue his forearms but Billie refuses, forcing a knee between him and his antagonist. Gerard gags and huffs, diaphragm still contracting in pain. Billie can see the water in his eyes and uses all the strength in his legs to push him off.

Billie juts to push himself onto Gerard, almost kneeling on his back trying to keep the air out of his lungs. Hands blindly reach out for him and Billie deliriously trying his best to corral them, shoving nails into wrist and yanking, pushing his weight down to protect himself from the wild thrashing. Gerard thrusts his head back with a snap and Billie (in the least manly way possible) yelps in surprise, narrowly avoiding another headbutt.

Billie glares at the back of sweat-slicked hair, using your own cranium is as a weapon is a dirty fucking trick in his book Billie decides, noticing he is having a harder and harder time keeping him down.

'Come on mystery announcer man, start that whole numbers bit' Billie curses in his mind.

Billie thinks of something he hasn't thought of as a fighting tactic since kindergarten, he can't believe he's about to do this to another grown man in the name of fisticuffs.

One of Gerard's hands gets loose and starts to pry at anything it can get a grip on, leaving scratches on Billie's side and face.

Billie takes it as a sign of now or never and bites broken tooth and all into Gerard's neck. Billie can't tell if it's his or the kid's blood but it's there and Gerard is tense, obviously what Billie is doing it making it even harder to breath, the free hand tries to force fingers in Billie's mouth, tries to get canines out of thin skin.

“Ten, nine...”

Billie holds his throbbing jaw tight, he can do this. The crowd is loud in his ears but he can't tell anything more than volume, his own pulse in his ears is all he can even begin to decipher.

“Five, Four…”

Gerard's desperate fingers do their job, shoving Billie's face back.

The crowd is less pure noise and words are formed, it's too late.

“Two, one, zero!”

Billie quickly rolls off his opponent, looking up at the lights above them, he blinks and notices one eye is throbbing, is it going to blacken or was it from the blood oozing into it, he wipes at it and it stings. He sits up and Gerard is looking at him with a mix of disgust and shock. Billie stands, 'It would be sporting of me to help him up' Billie thinks as he turns, hurrying quickly to his side of the room, out of the cage.

“Mikey, get me a cigarette!” Billie calls out over the spastic crowd, ready to revel while thinking about how there is no way in hell he can pull that off again.

***

Gerard feels about a hundred years old when he drags himself to his feet. His jaw feels loose, his throat aches, there's a sharp pain in his shoulder and he can feel the warm ooze of blood trailing from the bite wound Billie used to take out the round.

He keeps the wincing pain out of his movements as much as he can while he ambles out of the cage, the exit feeling much too far away. His side of the crowd are somewhat more subdued than the victorious screams coming from the Green Day contingent. But they're still calling him, encouraging him, yelling for him to pick it up, throw it aside, he can still win this.

Frank's waiting for him at the gate, pulling him into a loose hug, gingerly avoiding Gerard's more tender areas.

When he pulls back, concerned amber eyes are searching him and Gerard's putting on his best face. You can't win 'em all.

"He got lucky." Frank's trying to sound reassuring.

"Lucky? He fucking bit me, the fucker." Gerard counters as Frank laces their fingers and eases him over to a chair in the midst of his bandmates. Gerard finally gets a decent look around at his crew and how they're coping. Bob looks frighteningly angry, Gerard makes a mental note of the expression, wondering if he can recreate it once he's back in the ring for round three. Though even Bob's neutral expressions can be pretty fucking scary so he has an unnatural advantage over Gerard.

Brian looks concerned, but he's pretty good at hiding it. Gerard can only pick it from years of close-living familiarity. It's the same look he used to get when Gerard was on a three-day bender and just generally fucking up and vomiting all over the place.

Then there's Ray. He just looks sad. Sad but with a fierceness underneath it like it's taking everything he's got not to crowbar the fucking cage open and get between Billie and Gerard each round. Protect Gerard. But that's Ray anyway. Gerard knows not to expect anything else.

Mikey just looks ill. He's pale and gray and there's a tremor in his hands that he's trying to hide by keeping his arms folded. He's glancing over at Gerard occasionally but every time he does his eyes flick away, like he keeps forgetting not to look. Like it physically hurts him to see his brother all wrecked.

Frank's on the other end of the spectrum. He's thrumming with movement like stillness is the enemy, dragging a bucket of water across the cement and dipping a sponge in it. He's patting gently at Gerard's wounds, wiping away the blood, hissing and cursing out Billie Joe and all of fucking Green Day.

Gerard feels like the biggest ass for putting them all through this.

"I'm sorry, you guys, this was really stupid-" He starts, but Bob doesn't let him finish.

"Don't you fucking apologize, you asshole."

It pulls Gerard's mouth into a grin, tugging at his split lip painfully. Trust Bob to get mad at him for caring.

"If anyone should be apologizing it's that motherfucker." Bob's hand waves vaguely in Billie's direction.

"Yeah Gee," Ray's chiming in, looking braver than he did a minute ago. "Don't psyche yourself out. Look at him. He's had it. He can't do that again."

Gerard lets his eyes alight on his opponent, yards away on the opposite side of the arena. He's not sure if he'd use the term "had it" but Billie is looking worse for wear. So is Gerard, though. And he's feeling it too.

God he just wants it to be over already.

It takes everything in him not to give a "in case I don't make it speech" dividing his worldly possessions, records and comic books between them all. That would be a bit of a downer. He's crashing a hand through his hair, trying really hard not to notice how much it hurts to just lift his arm when Frank grabs his wrist.

"Fuck Gee, you're acting like you lost already."

"I just did." And just like that Gerard is whining again.

"One round, man." Frank counters, and Brian chimes in, using the hard-ass tone that usually only comes out when Gerard's trying to get out of doing interviews.

"You're down one, he's down one. Forget round two. Next round is the only one that counts. Now stop acting like a fucking pussy." Brian punctuates it by prodding one of the few un-marked parts of Gerard's chest. That's kind of him, given the amount of pain Gerard's in.

"Do I need to read you the fucking article again?" Frank threatens, trying to shake the sulk out of the frontman.

"Utter tripe!" Bob interjects, affronted.

"Emo-tard. He said fucking emo-tard." Ray growls.

"We are not fucking emo. Emo is shit!" Gerard finally bites, starting to get fired up.

"So are you gonna go cry in the corner and cut yourself like a little emo princess?" Okay Frank's fucking pushing it now. Gerard jumps up, blood rising, feet feeling light on the concrete, like he wants to run, wants to kick.

He grabs Frank by the back of the neck, eyes glittering dangerously.

"Who're you calling emo you fucking little shit?" Gerard's panting out the words in a dangerous growl. Frank nods slowly, corner of his mouth quirking up.

"Yeah that it's. That's fucking it. Keep that." Frank grabs the back of Gerard's neck and turns him to face the other band members.

"Fucking take him out." Says angry-face Bob.

"Show him, Gee. Show the goddamn traitor he's messing with the wrong band." And Ray is actually kinda scary when he's ticked off.

Finally Mikey's meeting Gerard's eyes and not looking away. He has the final words, saying simply and fiercely, "Hurt him."

Yeah Gerard's pretty sure he can do that. His blood's high and he's fucking pissed off. He's as fired up as he'll get but still not quite ready when the announcer's voice booms out over the speakers again.

"Opponents. Final round."

The crowd just loses it. Frank gives Gerard's shoulder one final squeeze, eyes saying more than his mouth can.

Gerard can't hear shit over the screaming but he knows his crew are yelling encouragement at him as he strides back to the cage. He can feel the vibration of the thrumming crowd rolling up through his body from the floor. He's holding onto Frank's words, rolling his hate around in his mind, bathing in it.

When the cage is locked up and he looks over to see Billie Joe snarling at him twenty paces away it hits him.

Jesus this is really it.

Okay he's done this twice now. He can do it once more.

"Gerard Way, are you ready?"

A million tactics race through his mind as he throws his arm skyward. Only one really sticks which is simply: survive.

"Billie Joe Armstrong, are you ready?"

Gerard watches Billie's arm fly up, heart racing. The announcer counts them in.

"Three, two, one... fight!" When the siren squeals this time Gerard doesn't run. He's not repeating his round two mistakes. Billie doesn't either, both of them stalking slowly forwards, eyeing each other off. When they get closer the movement turns into circling, neither one of them ready to break the stalemate and get within arm's reach of the other.

Gerard's waiting for the right moment to move. He's studying Billie's face, waiting for any hint of distraction. One of Billie's eyes is blackening and there's blood encrusted at the corner of his mouth. He looks angry. Really fucking angry. And incredibly focused on the man in front of him.

He has to blink sometime, Gerard's thinking. That's when he'll move.

There's a shriek and a rattle somewhere to Gerard's left. Gerard doesn't look, but Billie does, eyes flicking ever-so-briefly to whatever just happened over Gerard's shoulder and that's when Gerard rushes him. He slams the older man hard in the solar plexus, sending him flying backwards. Before Billie has time to regain his footing Gerard punches him the face and then like he's in some kind of berserker fury he just keeps hitting everything he can reach, grunting and panting and pummelling for all he's worth.

It's not the smartest thing he's ever done. Sure he gets a few bloody good hits in, but his focus is all over the place and he totally doesn't see it coming when Billie ducks out of his field of punching and wrenches Gerard's arm backwards and nearly out of the socket. Gerard squeals in protest, pain shooting up his limb. Billie gives him a hard shove and the concrete's coming up to meet him before he can even get his free arm in front of him to hold it back. He lands hard on his shoulder and chin, pain rocketing through his jaw and he can see blood on the concrete in front of his face.

Billie's still got a grip on his arm and Gerard can feel him hunkering down over him, putting a knee on his back ready to press him into the ground and jesus it could be an embarrassingly short round. But Gerard's not having any of it. He starts kicking his legs out and back and somehow manages to make contact with one of Billie's legs, sending him off balance enough that Gerard can squirm out of the death grip Billie's got on his arm. Gerard flips over onto his ass and kicks up with his legs, getting Billie in the other knee before he smarts up and jumps backwards, out of kicking range.

Gerard springs up as fast as he can, going at Billie and getting nothing but a faceful of knuckles as thanks. He can feel his face swelling and more blood rolling down his skin when he goes for Billie's throat, getting a grip on him but not a good one. Billie grabs a handful of Gerard's hair and wrenches, choking a groan from Gerard as he struggles to keep his grip. Then he remembers he has legs as well as arms and tries to hook one of them behind Billie's, scooping Billie's legs out from under him and they both topple to the ground.

They land awkwardly, a sprawl of arms and legs, impact jarring both of them for a moment before each of them scuffle to get on top. Billie's faster and Gerard's feeling the hard slam of rough concrete against his back as Billie's body presses his down into the ground. Fuck this, he thinks, pushing up with all he's got, scrambling and wriggling and somehow (he doesn't even know exactly) he rolls them over so Billie's on the bottom.

Billie's not happy about it either, kicking and growling, then he's coming up with bared teeth and _oh no you motherfucker no more biting_ Gerard backhands him hard, sending Billie's head flying sideway, spitting blood but also throwing Gerard off balance. Billie recovers quickly and squirms hard enough to unseat Gerard, throwing him off so he falls sideways onto the concrete then Billie's scrambling backwards out of reach.

They both rush to hoist themselves to their feet, neither wanting the disadvantage of being the last one on the ground. Then they're back in a stalemate, both eyeing the other off, panting and bloodstained, leaning low over bent knees.

"Was it worth it?" Gerard shrieks at Billie, knowing he looks crazed, seeing droplets of blood-spittle flying out of his mouth as he speaks. "Is this what you wanted you fucking traitor?" He barely finishes getting the words out because Billie rushes at him, slamming him hard with his shoulder and going for a punch, but Gerard wises up and gets an arm in the way, the blow vibrating up his forearm as he counters it, stopping Billie's arm right in front of their faces. This leaves Billie's middle wide open so Gerard knees him in the guts. Billie falls forward bending double, but instead of folding he grabs Gerard around the waist and pushes, slamming his opponent back against the cage.

Gerard's winded, curled over and coughing blood all over Billie's back, but it's not enough to stop him, he's still upright he's got more fight in him. He grabs a handful of Billie's hair and wrenches upwards till Billie's head comes up with it, pained expression on his face. Gerard snarls and backhands Billie across the face, feeling the whiplash in the hand that's still stuck in Billie's hair. While Billie's recovering from that he grabs him by the shoulders and spins them around, slamming Billie backwards against the cage, then pulling him forward and slamming him back again, the crosswire shaking and rattling behind them. He's going for a third slam when Billie headbutts him, hitting him square in the forehead, sending Gerard flying backwards.

Pushing off the side of the cage, Billie catapults himself forward in an impressive tackle, landing hard on top of Gerard and grappling with him till both of Gerard's arms are trapped and his body and legs are being held down by Billie's. Gerard growls and writhes, trying to unseat the smirking frontman, but it's not cutting it this time, he's landed perfectly and there's weight on every part of Gerard's body but his head.

Billie knows he's won now, can feel that Gerard's completely trapped. He's grinning smugly with bloody teeth and one eye nearly sealed shut with swelling. Gerard doesn't think he's ever hated anyone so completely as he hates Billie at that moment.

 _Think, think, think!_ Gerard's screaming internally as his every limb is shaking and pulling and squirming trying to unseat this smiling asshole from on top of him but nothings budging. All he's doing is winding himself and scraping up his back on the rough concrete.

The announcer starts to count backwards from ten, crowd shrieking along hysterically and Gerard feels nothing but white-hot panic as Billie's steely grip on him doesn't shift an inch. He must've sweated off most of the baby oil because squirming around ain't doing shit except make Billie smile wider and more smug, leaning down on Gerard, sweat and blood falling off him onto Gerard's face.

He's too close to headbutt, but Gerard has a mad thought, an insane notion and completely lacking a better plan he puts it into play immediately, lifting his head and kissing Billie Joe full on the lips.

There's nothing sexy about, it's a mashing of faces all blood and teeth and lips but Billie is completely not expecting it. There's this split second where his grip falters and that's all Gerard needs to launch into a fully fledged fit, kicking and squirming and grabbing until he's got his arms free and his hands around Billie's neck, rolling them over, pressing Billie into the floor.

Then Gerard's the one fucking smiling. But not for long. He hasn't managed the perfect landing Billie had, his grip on the older man is dubious at best as they wrestle and roll, each of them trying to get the upper hand, get the other to the floor. They roll over three more times and by the time Gerard's on top again he's pretty sure he's seeing double. He can't even remember what all this is aid of anymore, he's just got his hands full of squirming man and they're both panting like they've got emphysema and gripping and growling and scratching.

Gerard manages a pretty decent pin on Billie, holding his arms down at the wrists, straddling him fairly firmly despite the writhing and kicking. He's starting to think this might be it, he has it. When the announcer starts counting he holds firm, holds Billie down, determined not to lose the upper hand this time.

"Ten, nine, eight." The crowd are howling along and Gerard's fighting a smile. Billie looks so fucking helpless, growling and spitting underneath him, fighting his grip, and tossing his head.

"Seven, six, five." Feeling cocky, Gerard counts along, panting the numbers out as he holds Billie down, somehow feeling stronger, or Billie's fighting less, maybe he tired him out.

"Four, three, two." It should have been a warning, that Billie seemed subdued, because why the fuck would he be? But Gerard's not using the right part of his brain so when he's mouthing the word "one" and Billie throws his upper body forward and headbutts Gerard with all the force of his torso he is not expecting it, is not ready for it, he just goes flying backwards, landing hard on the ground, head cracking on the concrete.

And it all goes black.

***

'Come on Armstrong, you only win if you pin, lift your arms, just set your hand on him... why isn't my hand moving.... or my arm....why can't I feel them?' Billie thinks, his world shrinking to his hand and the passed out kid's back. He thinks he's won, but something’s wrong, his body doesn't listen and he can see that he's falling back, back flat against the cement, he can here the muddled roar of the crowd, but it's so far away, like he's floating at the bottom of a pool.

He can see that kid, the skinny little thing covered in sweat, grease, and blood, it might have been the repeat head injuries talking, but there was something pitiful and sweet about him being all knocked out.

Billie wonders how he’s moving, he’s not telling his feet to move...

Another set of feet is in his eye line, then ankles, and a waist, it's Frank, how is he looking at Frank?

It takes too long for his nerves to tell him he is being held, familiar hands.

Things feel wrong and Billie notices he is zoning out, he tries to focus, his friends are here, Mike still holding most of him, he can pick out Mike's voice.

“Don't fall asleep.”

Billie tries to say Mike's name, but his ears tell him it's all coming out as sore groans.

Billie can't understand how he’s gotten to the car without leaving the arena, but he must have, how did he miss it, and next thing he knows Mike is fireman-carrying him, he wants to ask, figure out how time got all jumpy but he can't.

Things slow down once he knows the doctors are there, he hates them and somehow the anger in him helps him focus.

“Mr. Armstong, how did you wind up in this condition?” The stuffy man asks while already scribbling in his notepad.

Mike answers for him, “He got mugged”.

“I got into a fight.” Billie says, but it comes out a whispered slur, it turns out his tongue won't listen either.

The doctor grumbles and continues his line of questions, “Do you remember getting here, Mr. Armstrong?”

Billie tries to focus but the answer won't come, the doctor continues, “Mr. Armstrong, can you tell me your phone number?”

Billie's eyes widen as his brain scrambles to find those numbers, how can he not know those numbers?

The doctor turns to Mike, “I think your friend here, along with all the obvious injuries, has a MTBI”.

'What's a MTBI? Am I dying, that little fucker killed me, I'm dying of a MTBI, whatever that is, I knew it...” Billie thinks but all that fumbles past sore raw lips is a tired, “Wha?”

The doctor turns back to Billie Joe, “A concussion, you have a minor traumatic brain injury...”

“Oh” Billie mumbles, Mike reaches out and holds him close.

The doctor looks up at Billie, “We'll keep you here overnight for treatment of the larger abrasions and for continued monitoring of your MTBI”.

A nurse rushes in and whispers to the doctor, the doctor looks up at Billie with contempt, “Now, in the name of medical professionalism, I should not ask what I am about to ask. Mr. Armstrong, you didn't happen to get into a fight with a man, about your build, and did you...” The doctor gives a heavy sigh, “Did you bite him?”

Billie knows the answer but he doesn't know if he should open his mouth.

Mike is holding his head in his hand.

The doctor seems like he hates his job just about now.

The doctor excuses himself and a nurse bounds back in to start cleaning Billie up and sewing all the little leaky holes torn in him shut.

Billie feels he has got his tongue under control as the nurse takes safety scissors to his pants, “Mikey... What happened?”

“You got fucked up pretty bad.” Mike sounds really upset, he's mad but he's holding it in for Billie's sake.

Billie watches the girl peel one pale weak leg free, “No I mean, what happened? Did I win?”

“Nope…”

Billie feels his brain ache as he tries to remember, “But he was on the ground, his eyes were closed”.

“You both lost Billie Joe....”

“Oh.” Billie sighs as he is now almost naked in a sterile office with a woman he doesn't know squirting saline into scratches as Mike holds his hand.

Billie wonders if this is really happening or if his concussion is playing tricks on him.

 

A little over a week has passed and Billie and Mike are strewn out by Mike's pool. Billie has been spending more and more afternoons at Mike's house since Adie will not stop calling him 'dumb-ass' and hovering over him, making sure he is not dead.

Mike has had the decency to wear swim trunks as he occupies his lounge chair, Billie has refused to remove his boxer shorts and bath robe, dark navy flannel framing the bandages wrapped around his stomach. The doctors tried to bandage each one individually, but it became a mess and he is wrapped up like one big boo-boo. He is wearing a pair of Adie's large white sunglasses because they are the only ones big enough to cover the fact that his eye is still swollen shut. Billie is picking at an exposed scab on his wrist. Mike is watching intently.

“Stop it, you are going to get an infection and your hand will fall off and you won't be able to play guitar and you will go insane and you will break up the band and hide in your garage wearing tissue boxes on your feet.”

Billie takes a few moments to turn his head, it does hurt to move still, and looks over the lenses of his glasses, squinting, “You are insane Pritchard, I would never wear tissue boxes on my feet, I would wear bright blue strappy pumps.... or something a little more fruity.”

Mike gives a mocking frown and looks out over the cement and teal water, “So are you ever going to call him, or write him, shit got way out of hand Bill, you have to handle this like a grown up.”

“I am handling things like a grown up.”

“You are outside in your jammies, refusing to let _mommy_ kiss your cuts and make them better, and refusing to play nice with the kid that beat you up on the playground after you called him an 'emo-tard'.” Mike states blankly.

“Oh fuck you, Mike.”

“I'd like you to, but you are allowed no strenuous activity.” Mike smirks.

Billie glares and sticks his tongue out.

Mike pushes a white slip between himself and Billie on the little garden table between them, “You have to read it sometime.”

“No I don't.” Billie snaps.

“Yes you do, you beat his ass in, and he gave you a big smooch, so you owe Gerard enough to open his little letter.”

Billie makes a grimace at one of the memories that refuses to blur from his head wound, he remembers in vivid detail the blood, pain, lips, and confusion. That tricky little bastard, Billie usually would be all for kissing strange young men but this is the exception, ingesting blood kinda kills the mood.

“I really have to, don't I?”

“You have been avoiding it for a full 24 hours now.”

“Fuck.”

Billie takes pink and bandaged fingers and pats at the envelope, taking his dear old time to tear the envelope open, eventually resorting to using freshly capped teeth.

Billie pushes the glasses up into his unbrushed nest of curls, making the black mess look like a living creature with wide black eyes. Billie Joe chews his lips as he reads.

“Is there little greasy baby oil finger prints on the letter?”Mike mocks.

“I'm trying to read.” Billie pouts.

Billie reads the letter carefully, twice.

“Oh fuck me running....” Billie drops the letter on his lap.

“What's wrong? Does he want a rematch?” Mike pokes.

“No.... the letter was all nice and stuff, full of 'let's put this all behind us, 'I'm sorry for hurting you or your loved ones', and 'I think of you as a big brothers.…’ all that shit.... Mike? I have to do something nice don't I?” Billie moans, sinking further into his lounge chair.

“Well, you have to do something other than converting sunlight into vitamin D.”

Billie settles in, deciding that if he is quiet and still maybe Mike will forget he's there and not press the issue.

Mike notices Billie trying to melt into the plastic lawn furniture and moves to sit on the edge of Billie's seat, resting a hand on Billie's left knee, the single expanse of skin seemingly spared from being sore.

“Billie-Baby... I'll help, what are we going to do about this?”

Billie sighs, defeated, “I don't like admitting I was wrong.”

Mike sounds fatherly, “But you were wrong, and now you have to make amends or risk being the world's biggest douchebag”.

Billie pouts, “Mikey, I can barely walk, I was beat up by a guy smaller than me... shouldn't you just pity me, baby me, and offer me blow jobs?”

Mike holds in a giggle, “We'll talk after you say you're sorry.”

Billie huffs and hold his arms out, “Fine then, help me up, I need to get to a phone...”

Mike slides his shoulder under Billie's arm and lifts, Billie winces but looks the part of the good little wounded soldier.

“While we are inside can I convince you to wear something other than the same shorts you have been wearing for 3 days?” Mike laments.

“No way in hell Mikey, no way in hell.”

****

Gerard hurts. A lot. In fact he's pretty sure it would take less time for him to count the number of areas where he _doesn't_ hurt than the ones where he does. Like his left eyebrow. It seems to have come out of this whole thing okay. His right eyebrow is another story, it's scabbing over nicely though. He might even have a small scar.

He's tucked up in bed, granny blanket over his knees, trying very hard not to move too much because movement causes pain and he's a bit over the whole pain thing at the moment. He's finally at a point where the headaches are more or less bearable. It's the whole being nursed thing he's not handling.

Frank's head is poking around the door, he's got that whole "I'm trying not to look concerned even though I really am" expression which Gerard is getting way too familiar with lately. Not that he can't understand it, he looks like hell. He's all scabs and bandages and his face is more purpling bruises than white skin.

Frank slips into the room and climbs onto the bed, flopping down next to Gerard. This makes the bed bounce a bit which causes _movement_ and movement hurts.

"Ow." Gerard can't even summon the energy to put much force into the protest.

"Oh suck it up." So much for the nurturing and caring Frank.

Frank rolls his head to the side to see Gerard's bruised face. "So, what's your name?"

Not this again.

"I'm not fucking concussed, Frank."

"What day is it?" Frank's firing out. For some reason he's taking the whole "Gerard having a concussion" thing really seriously, asking these questions like, every five fucking minutes.

"Fuck man, when do I ever know what day it is?"

"Who's the president of the United States?"

"An asshole." Gerard snorts. But his mouth is quirking at the side in a little smile that's making his split lip sting a bit.

"Gerard...." Frank's whining.

"Frank..." Gerard whines back, trying to sound extra-annoying. He narrows his eyes at Frank and pulls a face even though it makes his poor right eyebrow hurt. And his cheek. And his chin. And...

"Can you at least try to take this seriously?" Frank's asking.

"Nope." Gerard's not playing.

"Are you gonna ask me about the letter?" Frank's leading.

"Nope." Gerard's pouting a bit even though it hurts to do it. Fucking letter. "I can't believe you made me write that stupid letter. Such a suck."

"Come on Gee, one of you guys had to step up."

"I thought my original letter was fine." Gerard's pouting really fucking hard now.

"Gee, ripping the lyrics to Venom out of the liner notes and putting your autograph on them is not a fucking apology letter."

"I don't see why I am the one who had to apologize!" Gerard's voice is pitching up with fury and it's making his headache a bit worse but whatever, this is important. "Fucking emo-tard Frank. Emo-fucking-tard." Gerard's glaring at Frank, but he's really glaring at Billie Joe.

"So it got out of hand. We let it get out of hand. It's not too late to fix it. This doesn't have to be world war fucking emo-tard."

"Yeah okay right." Gerard hates it when Frank's right. He sighs. "So what about the fucking letter then? Did the biter write back?"

Frank smiles like he knows a secret. "Better than that." Then he's shifting around on the bed and pulling something out of his back pocket and it's messing a bit with Gerard's concentration because fuck - movement - bad, remember?

It's a fresh Rolling Stone magazine. He unfolds it and turns to a marked page, handing it to Gerard.

"Read it."

And Gerard does. And his mouth drops further and further open as he reads which makes his split lip sting and yeah, maybe there's some drool coming out but he's not really concerned about that now because, shit. What a fucking interview.

"Now _that_ is a fucking apology." Frank announces, poking his finger at the magazine spread.

Frank's right. Again. The interview is almost embarrassingly complimentary. There's even a fairly convincing story about how Billie Joe wound up listening to some cock-eyed leaked version of the album with a fucked up mix which was where all the bad opinion came from. All the bad opinion that the print on the page in front of Gerard is blanketly erasing.

"Hmmmm." Gerard's not ready to make words yet.

"So, truce? Call it over? Done? Can we move on now?" Frank's pressing.

"Yeah all right fine. Fucking truce. Send him a fruit basket or something." Gerard's got his grumpy voice on, but he's smiling pretty hard and so is Frank. Looking way too smug too.

"I think he used the word genius too many times, though. It gets a bit repetitive." Gerard decrees, catching a bit of Frank's smug. Frank just slaps him with the magazine, totally heedless of Gerard's injuries and yelping protests.

"Great." Frank dumps the magazine on the ground, tucking his hands behind his head as he settles back on the bed, all smug self satisfaction. "So can we throw out the baby oil now? Because we are so not doing that again."

"Hey!" Gerard's protesting "No need to throw it out. It has... other uses. Unrelated to cage fighting."

Frank just looks at him sideways, then he's grinning and kissing Gerard very, very gently and it still hurts but Gerard doesn't even mind that much. Because he's tough. He fought Billie Joe Armstrong in a fucking cage.

That's better than tough. It's fucking hardcore.

 

~end


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